The story was not yours to tell,
The words were foreign too but that never held your resolve to put them under your spell!
The lines were mere magic as they descended from your roguish tongue,
They spilled forth, captivating them in a tale that held melancholy in its heart; wrenching another for your lulz.
You had made your choice back in time,
To pull a shroud on your pain and tell theirs in exchange, and you say “it ain’t no crime”.
The tales you recite hang heavily on their minds,
The tales your head connive scorches everything it finds,
The holes you desperately try to hide resurface the moment you pull on your robe to play host to the night.
You put on a show every new moon,
Your audience fooled into taking you for a loon.
You ride the wave with the strength of deception,
You neither tarry nor race up, you walk up to that glorious ending with ease, parting your wavelength of perception.
You share yet another poem as the crowd live your lie,
You paint yet another picture of a demented, hopeless lad you saw in the mirror all this while,
You share your pain through that of others to a world that cannot see but hear your words, as you rant on with no bother.
You twist and turn your pain in turn with the crooked ones they were prey to under the same sun,
You mix and match yourself with them, you bring out a protagonist you embrace, empathise and empower with your words’ elan.